Dreams of Discord: Slumber Stories
by SullenStriker
Summary: From the pages of the long-running story comes a series of tales previously untold. [Dub-Verse. Part of Dreams of Discord series.]
1. Janeway's Training Regimen

**Author's Note:** This fanfic is going to be set in what I call the "dub-verse", meaning it will use elements unique to the English localization of the series, names and all, while establishing it as a separate universe. This will allow me more freedom to establish reinterpretations of the characters and setting without contradicting or otherwise sullying the integrity of the original.

With that said, as an American writing a story based on a European localization of a Japanese game, certain values and themes (cultural references, etc.) may differ. (I hope you can understand all that—it sounds way more convoluted than it needs to be.)

 **Additional Note:** Though technically a prequel, it is recommended you read up to chapter 38 before reading this chapter for full context.

* * *

 _A few weeks before the Saints' Way Regionals..._

Ever since Fifth Sector's disbandment, things had not gone well for Riker. Friction between him and Milky Way's captain led to him getting kicked off the team, and unable to keep in touch with any of his Imperial peers, he fell into a deep depression. Having a lot of free time on his hands, he began spending more and more of it at local cafes and eateries, leading to his current predicament.

Janeway and Cylon, two of his former teammates, walk into the cafe and are waiting in line when they catch a glimpse of the purple-haired first-year. Right away, they can tell something is different about him. Cylon is the first to speak up about it. "Are my eyes tricking me, or has he gotten a bit, erm, _bigger_?"

"I know, isn't he cute?" In contrast to the skunk-haired student's confusion, Janeway's reaction is of pure bliss. "Those round cheeks, those chubby thighs, that soft little tummy of his... It's too much to resist!"

"Jane, not in public, please," Cylon mutters in embarrassment as the line in front of them shrink. "But it's a bit sudden, isn't it? Fifth Sector's been disbanded for a year, but he only got kicked off just a few weeks ago. How could he change so much in so little time?"

"Aw, come now. He isn't _that_ big. He was already a bit pudgy when I saw him in the locker room back in Saints' Way, so I'm not all that surprised." Glancing at Riker again, their eyes make contact, causing the latter to break away, blushing. "But I do pity the poor kid. The disbandment's clearly hit him hard, and he probably has nowhere else to go. Maybe if we convince him to play for us again, he'll feel better."

"That would depend on the captain. My biggest concern is his weight; he can't exactly play midfield in his current state."

"Aw, don't be such a downer! I'm sure he'll get back on his feet in time. Though now that you mention it, you don't really see a lot of chubby midfielders. But there are plenty of bulky defenders." Janeway's mouth forms a catlike grin as a devious plan starts to sprout.

After receiving their orders, they waltz over to Riker's table. "Hey, Zaphy," Janeway greeted in a cheerful, fake Southern Belle accent. "Mind if we join you?" Riker vocally rejects the offer, but they take a seat anyway. "It's been a while. So, how have you been?"

Averting his gaze, Riker mutters, "I've been better."

"Say, me and Cy were talking, and we've noticed that you really must miss football. So we were thinking—"

"My answer is no."

Jane is about to protest, but Cylon steps in. "Listen, this can go about two ways: either you join us, or I'll tell everyone what you did at that Christmas party."

Riker's gold eyes widen, and he clears his throat. "I'm listening."

"We're running a bit short on defenders in our team, so we're looking for new recruits. We assumed that, with your past experience, we can bring you back to the main team. Less hoops to jump through, see?"

The younger boy looks unimpressed. "It's because I'm fat, isn't it? That's why you want me to play defense."

"Yes, that's true," Janeway admitted—a bit too happily, to Cy's chagrin. "But with a bit of extra training, your size won't matter, no matter what position you play."

Cy continues in an attempt at damage control. "Think of it like this. Most players up front are like knights charging through the field. But not many own shields, and of those that do, very few of them know how to wield it properly. By training your defense, you'll be better equipped to handle the front lines."

One long pause later, Riker answers, "Well, that was a stupid metaphor. But you seem to know what you're talking about, so fine."

Jane claps his hands together. "Then it's settled! We'll meet up tomorrow afternoon and start training."

"Wait a minute, nobody invited YOU!"

"Hey, as a forward, I need training just as much as you. Besides, it's always more fun to exercise with a buddy. Tell you what, if you follow through, I'll treat you to whatever you want." He gives a gentle smile—one which barely hid his ulterior motives.

The next few weeks consists of a grueling training schedule created by Cy, its listed activities including: stretching, jogging, pushing and pulling, and weight lifting. He aims to push his students to their limits and cover every area necessary for a good defense. But all the hard work has made Jane's treatment all the more rewarding. When they're not at cafes and restaurants, they would go to a movie together or visit each other's houses. More often than not, food is involved in some way. As time goes on, the results of both of these would show.

" _Headbanger!_ " Jane bashes the ball with his forehead, empowering it with a burst of flame as it shot for the goal.

" _Whirlwind Force!_ " Balancing on his hands, Riker quickly swivels his legs and lower torso around, creating a swirling gust of wind that slows the ball's momentum whilst driving it closer to him. With the ball in his possession, he proceeds to dribble past Jane and pass it to Cylon. "Y'know, I think I could get used to this. Better watch your back, Cy!"

Stopping the ball with one foot, Cy retorts, "Don't get too cocky. You still have a long way to go." He turns his attention to the forward. "Step up your game, Jane! You're slower than molasses."

Janeway, despite his exhaustion, is fired up, and certain as the sun rose from the east, his performance gradually improves. Finally, after many attempts, he finds an opening and scored a goal. After celebrating his small victory, his legs give way, and he falls back on the grass, stomach grumbling.

As he lays there, catching his breath, Cy walks over, rice balls and water bottle in hand. "Here. I think you'll want this." He happily accepts the offering and chows down. "Now that I can see it, you seem a bit, um, rounder than usual." Jane, while nowhere near his size, appears a bit more top-heavy, his face growing rounder as a small pair of breasts begin to poke through his uniform.

Gulping down the last bit of rice ball, Jane's green eyes have an odd glimmer as he replies, "I know. I checked the scale this morning, and I've gained seven pounds since last week alone. I never thought my plan could backfire so gloriously!"

Cy, more outraged than puzzled by his friend's behavior, puts him in a headlock and starts grinding his fist against his temple. "Don't look so cute, this is a real problem! It's one thing to have fat defenders, but we can't have a fat forward on our team."

"What's this about fat forwards?" Cy and Jane look up and see Riker, who happens to just be passing through. In the time they had been together, Cylon noticed a change in both of them. Riker himself has grown quite plump, forming a slight double chin and very prominent hips on top of his growing belly. "Well, I don't know what you're thinking, but if Jane can play as well as he does, it shouldn't matter if he's gotten a bit fat. A good player needs to adapt to changes, isn't that what you said? Then Jane-y here ought to be fine. Though, with that said…" He reaches over to pinch Janeway's cheeks, shouting, "This is all your fault, you spaced-out idiot. Your stupid weirdo tastes is making us both look bad. It'll take forever to lose all this weight."

Cy watches from a distance as his underclassman takes out his frustrations on Janeway. Despite being on the receiving end of the abuse, the peach-haired boy seems to enjoy his predicament. Both of them, once their emotions have been vented out, laugh it off like it was nothing. _How did I get involved with these bloody weirdos?_


	2. The Secret of Superdimensional Football

**Author's Note:** It is recommended you read up to chapter 56 before reading this chapter for full context.

* * *

The local kabuki theater is a full house. With the new Holy Emperor having been crowned shortly after his arrival, the famous Avalon family troupe were brought in to entertain him and his business cohorts. But the audience did not consist entirely of stuffy suits: families from across the region, including a few Raimon students, flocked to see the show. As the theater lights dim, the spotlight flicks on, shining upon center stage.

"Long ago, during the age of the earliest civilizations," the narrator's voice booms, "the sport that we call 'football' had been born." The spotlight turns off, then, seconds later, the stage is flooded with light, revealing two young actors standing across each other, poised as if prepared to duel. The narrator continues as they dance, in graceful-yet-fierce motions, ending in one of the actors falling dramatically, feigning death. "In its infancy, the game was originally designed to determine all sorts of religious decisions, including human sacrifices. As time went on, this aspect was abandoned, becoming a safe, active form of entertainment beloved by the world. Everything was peaceful, until..."

The fallen actor stands up once again, this time accompanied by others, sporting more militaristic garments. The actors impersonate fighters on the field, swinging fake swords and guns. "Many decades later, a great war shook the whole world and nearly tore it apart. During this war, many lives were lost, and mankind nearly went extinct." A spotlight shines on one of the young actors, a young man with forest green hair. The young man moves slowly, creating a series of gestures similar to summoning, as a group of black-dressed individuals appear from stage right, giant, handcrafted dragon puppet and flowing, flame-like ribbons in tow. "But then, all of a sudden, a miracle happened: young children all over started to unleash special powers, once believed by the ancient to be blessings straight from the gods." The green-haired actor "unleashes" his powers upon his foes, who fall as the dragon and flames loom over, then past them. "When these abilities were discovered, those children were drafted into the military, trained into becoming super-soldiers. Once the war ended and what was left of the human population began to reconstruct themselves, they made regulations to accommodate these talented youths, which eventually took form in the football that we know and love today."

After the encore, the audience trails out of the theater and onto the lamp-lit streets. Among the last to go out is Ryoma Nishiki, still in a daze. Since the match against Almighty Faith, nothing feels right. Still addled from the mind-altering fog, he needs a chance to relax and clear his head. When Zack Avalon, the famous young actor, invited him, he didn't know what to expect. He always loved football, but he never realized the dark history behind it.

In his aimless wandering, he bumps into a tall figure in front of him. He raises his head, about to let out a soft swear when he cuts himself short, recognizing who they are. Tan skin, rosy pink hair, and sharp blue eyes. "Mr. Cinquedea, I didn't—"

"Nishiki, long time, no see!" Roma turns his head to a figure, closer to his height and age, yet almost identical in appearance to the tall man. "Did you enjoy the show?"

Brows furrowed with worry, Roma says, "Of course I did. But that story… was any of it true?"

"A few details might have been embellished," Mr. Cinquedea replies, "but the rest is one-hundred percent fact. That dark spot in history had been kept under wraps for many years, but secrets only stay that way for so long. It's not something people like talking about."

"I see," Roma mutters. It's all he can think of saying, now that he's aware of the truth behind this terrible tale.

Noticing his discomfort, the younger Cinquedea speaks softly in Italian to his father, who nods in approval, then refocuses on Ryoma. "Hey, I know this is last minute, but would you like to come with me? Father will be meeting with the Holy Emperor, and I won't have anything to do."

"Quentin…" Slowly, his worry seeps away, and a grin spreads across his face. "'Course I'll come! Big fancy place means big, fancy meals, right?"

Quentin blinks in confusion, then lets out a boisterous laugh. "Nishiki, you really are something! I think I'm starting to like you."

Once at the Cinquedea manor, the two boys share a meal with Quentin's father and his business partners, Mr. Naga and Rice, then hang out in an indoor spa, where the hot, steamy waters cleanse their bodies and soothe their spirits. Roma, his mind cleared of its earlier burden, starts conversing. "So what's your relationship with Rice, anyway? You didn't talk much at the dinner table. I thought you rich kids get on well with each other."

"I once made a request to join Garshield's training program, but he rejected it. Said I 'didn't meet their expectations', or something of that sort." He crosses his arms and says, frowning, "Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought."

"Quentin, I went up against you, and I know that's bullcrap. I've been to Italy and back, and in all my years, I've never seen a goalie as strong as you." He stands up, exposing himself as he says aloud, "Let's grow stronger together and show that Rice brat who's boss!"

The pink-haired young man's flush a subtle shade of red, initially flustered by the sight, but smiles back. and stands to meet him eye-to-eye. "Until we meet again on the pitch next year, keep fighting. I'm betting on your victory." As they slap hands in affirmation, their eyes, behind the fires of intense determination, show a soft glint of mutual understanding.


	3. Garshield Project Phase One

**Author's Note:** Though technically a prequel, it is recommended you read up to chapter 62-63 before reading this chapter for full context.

* * *

In a facility somewhere in Japan, middle school students from all over the country have been chosen to join a special program where they will train to become the ultimate player. This program, created and funded by Garshield Industries, is a hidden endeavor designed to uncover the true potential of those hand-picked by the Holy Emperor himself. Here, they work together and against one another, with those lucky enough to be recognized becoming part of his personal team. But none of that matters without extra incentive, and what better incentive is there other than to crush Raimon, a team said to have some of the world's best in youth football?

In the canteen, a petite young boy with stringy yellow hair pokes at the custard pudding with his spoon. His friend was taking too long in the lunch queue, and he's losing patience by the second. Eventually, he gives up and starts digging into it.

"Can I sit here," a tiny voice asks as an equally tiny finger points at the seat next to him. The blond boy looks up and sees another kid, even shorter than himself, with white hair reminiscent of seafoam waves. He nods, and the stranger plops himself down and immediately starts chatting while mowing down his hearty meal. "I saw you out on the courtyard earlier today, 'n' I saw you tearin' them 'bots apart 'n' I was like 'WOAH'! And so I went 'n' tried myself..." The smaller boy speaks with an odd dialect, as if everyday is "Talk Like a Pirate Day" or something. The blond boy, initially unsure how to deal with this bundle of energy, quickly becomes engaged in the conversation, despite not getting much of a word in. After giving him an earful, he calms down and says, "Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. Name's Marley Hookson, but you can call me Marley."

"Bayonet Gunne. You can call me Gunne."

"Can I call you Bay instead? I like the sound of that better."

Gunne becomes flustered. The only other person who calls him that is Flam, and that's because he felt the most comfortable around him. But this kid feels special somehow, almost as if they were fated to meet. After a second's thought, he grins and replies, "Only if I can call you May."

Marley's eyes shimmer with ecstasy. "We'll be like twins! Best mates in the sea!"

They clasp hands and engage in a joyful jig until a deeper voice stops them in their tracks. "Made a new friend, huh? That was quick."

Gunne, recognizing the voice, swiftly turns around to scold him. "Yeah, cus you were taking too long, so I made a new best friend."

His friend, a tall, lanky young man with wavy, orange hair, brushes off the comment and takes a seat next to Gunne, setting down the tray in his hands. "Not gonna argue with that logic. Shorties gotta stick together, right?"

The blond kid makes a pouty face. "Well, this shorty can kick your butt any day of the week."

"Whatever you say, kid."

Marley giggles, enjoying watching the two squabble, when another voice gives him reason to turn around. "Marley, there you are." Standing near him is a young man with teal dreadlocks and a serious look behind his beady eyes. "Davy 'n' I've been lookin' for you. They're callin' us over for you-know-what." Both Marley and Bay give worried glances to each other; while the latter is not sure what "you-know-what" is referring to, the expression on his new friend's face does not reassure him. "C'mon, we don't got all day." Without hesitation, the dreadlocked boy grabs Marley by the wrist and drags him away.

Watching this commence, Flam mutters, "I've heard rumors about it, but I never thought they might be true."

Confused, Bay asks, "What rumors?"

"It's probably got nothing to do with them, but word's been going around talking about what they call a 'trinity'—a fusion between three individuals instead of the usual two. It's been said that those involved in one are at least twice as powerful as those involved in a typical fusion."

"What about if a person was in a two-part fusion, but changed to a different partner?"

"Hard to say for sure. Most users typically stick with one partner. The physical and mental strain is enough to turn most away from the idea." A pause, then: "You aren't thinking of fusing with that Pirates Cove kid, are you?"

Gunne, flustered, vigorously shakes his head. "Of course not! I was just curious…"

"I'm not saying it's wrong for you to want to fuse with him. Just a warning to be careful. When you fuse with someone, you gain part of everything from them. Temperament, memories... even physical traits, if you stay fused long enough." He ruffles his straw-like hair with a wry grin. "You've grown a couple of inches, haven't you? You better thank me for that." Gunne laughs as he brushes Flam's hand away. "What I'm saying is, if you do decide to take that next step, think long and hard about who you do it with. It's a choice that will affect you for the rest of your life, so you'd better commit to it." He passes a plate of custard pudding from his tray to Bay's.

As he eats the pudding by the spoonful, he looks around, inspecting the crowd for more familiar faces. "Speaking of partners, I haven't seen Howie or Dirk lately. Have you?"

"Not since they entered Phase Two."

"I hope Dirk's alright. Howie's a real jerk!"

"They'll get by somehow. How else would they have lasted this long together?" Gunne starts pouting once again. "Look, I know you don't support their relationship—I don't think any of us did—but this is what they wanted. We have no choice but to accept it." From beneath his overgrown bangs, his eyes look down sullenly as he mutters, "That's just the way life works sometimes."

"I know, but still..." His small brows furrow anxiously. "I just hope he'll be okay." Just as he finishes his last spoonful, a distant whistle blows, and someone calls out their names. They clear the dishes from their hands and step towards the whistle-blower, who escorts them down into the basement level...

A loud slap echoes throughout the dark hall. A boy with pine green hair winces as he instinctively covers his mutilated face. Standing above him is his partner, leering down with two-colored eyes. Those eyes—frightening as they can be—are the most handsome part of his severely deformed face. The green-haired boy whimpers apologies, which fall upon deaf ears as he is beaten.

"This is all your fault," his partner shouts while grabbing him by the collar and shaking him. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Howie—"

He throws him against the wall. "Don't call me that! The one you call 'Howie' is dead." He looms closer, his twisted features inches away from his own. "Look at me. You killed your lover, and now you must pay for your sin." His hand tightens around his throat. "Now, say our name. The one given to us by the Elder Gods. Say it!"

While he struggles for freedom, the pine-haired boy chokes out, "Gh... Ghatanothoa."


	4. Zaphod Riker Private Investigator

**Author's Note:** It is recommended that you read up to chapter 62 before reading this for full context.

Happy New Year!

* * *

 _That's it_ , Riker thinks to himself while storming out of the Detective Club's designated clubroom. _If it'll make that fat bastard feel better, I'll get him the info he needs._

Still, he has to wonder: _Why_? Why go through all this trouble just for information? Why join his stupid club? Why _him_? It's not just because they're teammates—if that were the case, he would have run himself ragged doing favors for everyone, and hell knows he would never do that. So what about Keenan, of all people, makes him so special? He's not romantically involved, as some might automatically assume, but clearly, he's special somehow. Could it be that friendship thing so highly praised by society? As if. Thinking back on it, though, Keenan did treat him rather nicely, and not in the weird, flirty way Janeway does it. Probably because he could see right through him: Sharp knew of his insecurities, yet not once did he ever tease him or exploit them for his own benefit. There was no good reason for him to give him the time of day, yet he does it, anyway, and then some.

As soon as he leaves the school campus, he calls up an old friend and arranges a meeting at a library in Inazuma Town. A couple of days later, Riker arrives, a couple of minutes later than scheduled, but as close to "on time" as he is ever going to get. He scans the area and spots a familiar figure sitting at a table off to the side, as far away from the crowd as humanly possible. A slightly tan boy with long, messy hair the color of buttercream, he stands out with his military-style uniform, a symbol of Royal Academy status. What Riker finds truly astounding, however, is how _huge_ he is. While only a couple of inches shorter than him, the Royal student is quite plump, his gargantuan belly resting upon his lap and stretching his clothes to their limits. But unlike the Milky Way student, he seems unfazed by his massive size, even strutting it with pride. (If Janeway saw him now, he would be swooning.)

As he approaches the table, the Royal student puts down the book he was reading and looks up at him with contempt. "It's about time you got here. I was getting tired of waiting. Anyway, I brought what you asked for, and then some." He sifts through his bag and hands over a stack of papers, stapled together like a handmade book. "Say what you will about me, but you can't say I lack work ethic."

Riker flips through the pages, skimming through the lengthy descriptions of Fighting Spirits, Summoners, and various tactics and uses. Towards the end, after skipping through instructions on how to Armorfy, he comes across an intriguing article, marked with highlighter ink. The essay theorizes the possibility of Spirit fusion, combining two or more Spirits to create a newer, more powerful form. However, due to various factors, it is considered impossible to properly test the theory without risking a breach of ethics. It concludes that Spirit Bonding-the use of many individuals' energy to temporarily evolve a Spirit-may be the closest substitute, unless a miracle comes along to make true fusion occur. "What a joke," he says while scoffing at the article. "You mean to tell me that those things we saw in the last match were some scientific breakthrough? Yale, you really are off your rocker!"

"It's not entirely unfounded. There isn't any information on file for those Spirits we saw, and absolutely no records of the Great Old Ones, so unless there happens to be some mysterious new team with undiscovered Spirits, the possibility still stands. There's also this." He digs out some Polaroids and slides them across the table. In one photo is a figure, obscured by a dark aura, summoning a four-winged bird-like Spirit. In the other is the same Spirit, accompanied by a red-haired figure sporting Raimon's uniform. "These were taken before and during the Almighty Faith match. As you can see, the Spirit summoned in the forest is the same one used then. I've made comparisons to other Spirits accounted for in the database, with small luck. The closest I have is that it might be in the same family as Roc or Thunderbird. Then we have _these_."

More photos, this time featuring the inhuman abominations from the Great Old Ones match, along with a few of the players themselves, most notably Cthulhu. "I wouldn't look at them too long—seeing those ugly mugs could drive one to madness."

Riker inspects the pictures, noticing one odd detail. "Wait a minute. This player..." He picks up one of the photos from the Almighty match, then another. "Have you run any searches on this Summoner? I think they might be the one Keenan's after."

"I can try, but only so much. Tell you what: if you can get me a name, it'll make my job a whole lot easier."

"So now you're telling _me_ to do _your_ job for you? As if!"

Losing his cool, Yale gets off his seat and slams his hand against the table. "It took me hours, if not days just to get even half of this stuff. Now you're telling me it's for nothing? You ungrateful little—"

A shush cuts him off, the sound sending an odd chill through the air. Standing beside them is a tall, willowy man with long, lavender hair. "Please lower your volume. You're disturbing the patrons and scaring my assistant."

Realizing the repercussions of his reaction, he backs down. "My apologies. We'll be out shortly."

Once the librarian is out of sight, Riker bursts out laughing. "Drake got in trouble," he teases in a singsong manner.

"You don't have to rub it in," Yale grumbles, all the while hiding a bashful smile. "But back to the subject. I'll check around and see if anyone knows about them. In the meantime, you and your friend go look for a name. The more we can dig up about this guy, the better."

"Deal! But what about these guys?" He fans out the photos of the Great Old Ones, ugly mugs in full display. Riker gets a short laugh in as Yale grimaces from the sight.

"I tried to look them up, but they're not listed in any database. No age, school, or even where they're from. It's like they just appeared from thin air." A moment's pause, then a lightbulb goes off in Yale's head. "Have you heard of the 'Garshield Project'?"

"Yeah, everyone knows about it. I even applied for it, but got turned down. Can you believe it?"

"I'm not surprised—a lot of strong players were rejected, myself included." Yale's violet eyes shift away in a failed attempt to hide his disappointment.

Some part of Riker wants to reassure him, but the glare shot back at him tells him otherwise. "So what does Garshield have to do with all this?"

"It's possible that the Great Old Ones might be connected to the program, perhaps as part of an elite team or something. But that's just a theory."

"A _lame_ theory," Riker says with a scoff. "How can we confirm whether it's real or not? It's not like we can access their databases or anything."

"We can't, but I know someone who might help. He's a friend of mine who was recently accepted into the Garshield Project. Tell him Big Yale sent him." He winks and smiles in a manner unlike his usual smug self.

Yale jots down something in a scrap of paper and hands it to Riker before parting ways. Riker inspects the note, which reads, "Bradford Ash (Li'l Brad), Kirkwood Jr. High," along with a phone number and some directions on how to reach the town. Calculating the time and costs spent on traveling, all he can do is sigh. _The things I do for that idiot Keenan._


	5. Rise and Fall of a Great Old One

**Author's Note:** For the sake of context, it is recommended you read chapter 71 of Dreams of Discord before continuing with this chapter.

* * *

As shocking as Ghatanothoa's downfall has been, in the end, no one is surprised. In hindsight, the signs were there from the very beginning.

Howard Itzer was always a bit off. From the start, he craved attention. A bit of cockiness was not unexpected, especially in a skilled, ragtag group like the Black Templars, but he was on a completely different level. Lacking even the minimal amount of empathy needed to function in society, Howie literally believed the world revolved—or should revolve—around him. If he didn't have some level of control or authority, he would go berserk.

Not even his family was safe. When his little brother was born, Howie hated him. Without his parents' knowledge, he smothered the poor baby and made it look like an accident. When his mother dared to turn her attention away from him for even a second, he would lash out at her, spouting verbal and physical abuse until she killed herself in despair. When his father tried to walk out on his increasingly dysfunctional family, Howie chased him down and murdered him in cold blood. He was a sociopath, through and through.

Eventually, he was expelled from Raimon for "unruly behavior", when he assaulted one of his classmates for daring to question him. No other school would accept him. No orphanage felt safe taking him under their wing. He was sent to a psych ward for youths, where he lived out his days. A pitiful situation, sure, but the least that he deserved. What few friends he had quickly dwindled, and students who knew him well enough shuddered in fear at mere mention of his name. It seemed like he was truly alone—a notion he absolutely feared—but alas, he was not. For there was one individual in this world that was equally twisted, and they were right under his nose.

Dirk Anlace was a sweet kid. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and he was always humble when receiving praise. On the surface, one would pass him off as merely timid or passive in nature, and they would not be wrong. But deep down, he also craved attention, to obsessive levels, though he showed it differently.

Growing up in a family that often neglected him, Dirk never knew what love truly felt like. Whether the reception was positive or negative, he felt alive just being acknowledged. He never actively sought it out, out of fear that people would be turned off by his attempts, so he kept to himself, suppressing his own needs for the sake of social acceptance. When he saw Howie and how he openly expressed that same desire for attention, his heart was sent aflutter. What most people saw as a monster, he instead saw a lonely boy who simply wanted to be loved like any other human being. So for the first time in his young life, he began his pursuit.

It started with simple letters, slipped into his shoe locker at school. Then the stalking began. He knew where he lived at the time, and where he ended up. He visited him every chance he got, even if just to listen to Howie ramble. Finally, when he mustered up the courage, he initiated a conversation. In that instant, they clicked, becoming a duo, a couple, partners in crime. Guided by unhealthy obsession and fueled by mad desires, they took part in the Garshield Project, joining together as the leather-bound face of madness, Ghatanothoa.

Howie sits in the corner of the white padded cell, facing away from the bright lights, from the prying eyes peering through the barred window on the door, from the horrific entities that flicker in and out of existence. Since Dirk's passing, his appetite dwindled, and sleep was impossible, spending his waking seconds sinking deeper into despair. _Dirk is gone_ , he realized once he regained his sense of reality. _There's no one left. I'm all alone. I hate this. I don't want to be alone again—_

"You're not alone."

His head perks up, and he turns around. "Dirk?" Nothing. "Dirk, where are you?"

"In here." His hand rests upon his breast, right above where his heart would be. "My body may be no more, but my soul will never leave you. Remember that promise we made that day?" Tears well up in his two-colored eyes, as the memory plays out in his mind.

Howie sat with Dirk beneath a tree, in the fenced grassy courtyard of the psych ward. Over in the distance, the stony-faced guards watched him closely, with harsh discrimination. In Dirk's hands were two bento boxes, which, when opened, revealed a simple but elegantly arranged meal of rice with a side of odd-looking, roughly cut meat. Howie sampled the meat, pointing out the curious taste, and nearly choked upon hearing Dirk's response. "They say when somebody is in love, they give their hearts to their loved ones, right? Mum and Dad never did that for me, so I took it from them. I hear by consuming the flesh of another, you can gain part of their soul and become more complete. I hope that someday, maybe, I can offer my heart to you, so you will never have to be lonely again."

Despite the initial shock of the moment, Dirk's ramble was confirmation of his feelings towards him, and that in return solidified his own feelings for the moss-haired boy. When the time came, he didn't know what he was thinking. Glee? Anger? Remorse? He completely lost control of his body, though visions of the event are seared into his memory bank. Was it something they agreed on together, or was it something else entirely?

Then it hits him: it must be fate. The gods from afar had willed this, just as they had the uncovering of the mysterious rock planted beneath the earth. This, as with everything else in the universe, had been part of their ultimate plan. The gods want—nay, _need_ —him to be stronger, and this was the only way. Dirk knew this, and willingly sacrificed himself to pass his soul onto Howie, so that they could forever be one, so they could continue to become stronger, to show the world what the power of love looks like.

The heavy steel door opens, and Dulana steps in, Noboru standing beside him. "Howard Itzer, it's been a while. How have you been?"

His malformed face, acting on primal urges, can barely hide his repulsion towards this individual. "Don't call me by that name! Howie's been dead for a long time. You, of all people, should know that by now."

Noboru positions himself to step in, but a wave of his superior's hand orders him to back down. Shrugging off the overblown reaction, the Holy Emperor resumes. "My apologies, Ghatanothoa. That was unforgivable of me. If you would hear me out, I wish to offer a proposition. How would you like to ascend into true godhood?"

Slowly, a crooked grin creeps across Ghatanothoa's face. "Go on."


End file.
